


sunlight comes creeping in (illuminates our skin)

by goingmywaydoll



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pure pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 03:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3234776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goingmywaydoll/pseuds/goingmywaydoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one in which Mary wears Francis's shirts and he can't bring himself to complain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sunlight comes creeping in (illuminates our skin)

**Author's Note:**

> i had this in my drafts and it probably could have used another proofread but i was too lazy to do so oops. we deserve some fluff i think. takes place some time in season one. title comes from a song by birdy

She does it first out of pure laziness. It’s not her fault that they couldn’t make it to the bed last night and her robe is flung over the couch. It’s not her fault the fire has gone out and it’s much too cold in their room. It’s not her fault he’s not yet woken to warm her up. It’s not her fault his shirt is so perfectly pooled on the floor on her side of the bed. It’s not her fault it’s the only article of clothing in reaching distance.

(Francis, of course, will say it is her fault for how  _damn_  beautiful she looks wearing his shirts, but what does he know anyway?)

She twists out of Francis’s arms to reach to the floor and he shifts in his sleep but doesn’t wake. She nearly falls off the bed reaching for his shirt but soon she’s pulling the black material over her head. It’s much too big to her, the sleeves falling well past her wrists and the hem just gracing her knees but it’s perfect to keep her warm. Now that she isn’t shivering beneath the covers, she curls back into Francis’s arms and falls back asleep, his arm instinctively wrapping around her waist.

This time, Francis is the one that wakes her this time as he untangles their limbs. She twists around to face him as he rubs his eyes sleepily.

“Are you wearing my shirt?” he asks, his voice gravelly with sleep. She smiles bashfully.

“I got cold in the night,” she says, shrugging slightly. “I hope you don’t—“

But Francis doesn’t let her finish her sentence, answering her worry by pressing his lips to hers. She smiles against him as he places his hands on her hips, pulling her closer.

“So, I suppose you don’t mind…” she says when they pull away. Francis grins widely.

“Trust me, I don’t mind at all. In fact,” he says, fiddling with the hem of the shirt, sending shivers down Mary’s spine, “I’d be quite pleased if this was all you wore.”

“I think I can manage that,” she says, returning his grin as her heartbeat starts to quicken.

“Good,” he says before flipping over to land atop her, causing his wife to erupt in giggles. He smothers her laugh with his lips quickly however, and her fingers begin to weave through his hair. Not before long, his hands begin to inch up her legs, fingering the material covering her.

“Now, I’m afraid this needs to come off,” he says, biting back a grin. Mary lifts her body off the bed and Francis takes the ends of the shirt, pulling it over her head in one motion and throwing it aside quickly. “For I may like you in my shirts, but I prefer you in nothing at all.”

 

* * *

 

Of course, the second time, it’s much more intentional and much less for convenience. It’s late and Francis has been stuck in a private meeting with a Spanish envoy. He said he would miss dinner, though Mary didn’t mind, for she had her own work to finish. He did promise he would be back before she fell asleep and it’s getting late with still no sign of her husband. Mary has already changed into her nightgown and robe but there is only so much time you can spend writing letters to your mother.

She sets down her quill and puts her face in her hands, rubbing her eyes tiredly. It’s been a long week for both of them and all she wants is to fall asleep in Francis’s arms, though it seems that won’t be happening tonight. Sighing, she stands and walks across the room to their bed. She’s about to crawl into bed when she sees his shirt thrown over his changing screen. She glances at the door and decides she won’t be falling asleep any time soon anyway. 

She quickly hangs her robe on the hook on her own changing screen and walks across the room to his. She looks at the door again before pulling her gown over her head and replacing it with his white shirt. It falls above her knees and she’s forced to cuff the sleeves, but it smells like him and she remembers the look in his eyes when she last wore it. Smiling satisfactorily, she walks to the window seat next to the changing screen and sits, waiting for her husband.

Francis doesn’t keep her waiting much longer, it turns out and she’s relieved to see him walk in the room minutes later. He’s so tired he doesn’t notice her sitting by the window.

“Francis—“ she starts, standing up.

“Could we talk in the morning?” he says before she can finish. “I’m utterly exhausted.”

“If you want,” she says slowly. “But I have something for you…”

It’s now that Francis finally looks up, his eyes coming to rest on Mary. Her legs look endless beneath his shirt, her hair ever so slightly mussed and brought over her shoulder. His mouth parts as he takes his wife in and moves slowly across the room.

“You’re not tired at all, then?” she says when he reaches her, his hands wrapping around her waist.

“Oh, God, not in the slightest,” he breathes, closing the space between them. Mary responds eagerly, her arms winding around his neck. His hands are pressed against her hips, the thin material doing nothing to stop the heat passed between them. Her own hands move from his neck to blindly unbutton his doublet, pushing it off his shoulders quickly. His own shirt is thrown aside before either of them knows it and his hands are moving to her upper thighs to hoist her legs around his waist. He picks her up easily and she tightly grasps him as he moves them towards the bed, setting her down lightly and moving his body over hers. She lets out a small gasp when he moves his lips to her neck, certainly leaving a mark.

His hands ghost down the length of her body before reaching the material of his shirt and roughly pushing it up. Mary gasps sharply as his fingers crawl up her thigh, the black material of the shirt coming to pool at her hips. Mary moves her hands to the hem, ready to pull it fully over her head, but Francis’s hands come to rest over hers.

“Wait,” he says, looking into her eyes. She frowns for a moment before taking in his pupils the size of a period and the dark blue of his eyes.

“Are you…” she trails off, a smile tugging at her lips. Francis’s gaze flickers down and she tries oh so hard not to laugh. He’s  _embarrassed_ , she realizes. She slides her hand to the back of his neck, pulling him back to her. “ _God_ , just kiss me.”

And he does just that.

(And a little more) 

 

* * *

 

Let it be known that Francis de Valois is not a morning person by choice. Of course, he is forced to be but that doesn’t stop him from grouching about the early hour every morning, a fact well known by his wife.

“Francis?”

“No,” comes his muffled reply. Mary is seated on the side of their bed, her hand resting on her husband’s shoulder. “I don’t have a meeting for another hour. This is my day to sleep in.”

“Francis, it’s late,” she tries again, but he only sinks deeper under the covers.

“Mhmph,” he says and Mary rolls her eyes, getting annoyed now.

“ _Francis_ ,” she says sharply and his blond curls disappear under the covers. She hops off the bed, muttering, “You give me no choice, then.”

Francis peeks out of the covers, watching as she walks across the room in her robe. When he sees her heading towards the armoire, he pulls the covers back over his head. Mary smirks as he does so before hanging her robe up and pulling her nightgown over her head. His shirt is just lying there,  _asking_ for her to put it on. She’s gotten used to his shirts by now and they’re starting to smell more of her than of him. The fabric falls around her easily, almost habitually.

She tugs on the hem of the shirt, pulling it down slightly as she approaches the end of the bed. The bed dips when she kneels on it and Francis lets out another groan in response. She bites back a giggle at the noise and the tuft of hair sticking out of the covers, instead silently crawling towards her husband. She lifts her knees so they’re resting on either side of his hips and Francis finally pokes his head out of the covers.

His eyes go from tired and grumpy one moment to wide open the next.

“’Morning,” she says, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she looks down at him. A smile flits across his lips.

“Is this a…routine occasion?” he asks, his fingers fiddling with the material of his shirt. Mary shivers as their skin makes contact, only for his hands to dart away once more and thumb the shirt between his fingers.

“If you wish it to be,” she says slowly.

“Oh, trust me,” he says, his hands splaying across her hips firmly as he flips her over onto the bed, “I wish it to be.”


End file.
